


Control

by Tammaiya



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Bondage, Knifeplay, M/M, PWP, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-09
Updated: 2004-04-09
Packaged: 2018-08-09 04:06:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7786147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tammaiya/pseuds/Tammaiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kinky bondage porn. Full stop, the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Control

Crawford awoke to the cold, seductively dangerous feeling of steel resting against his throat. Shifting, he realised that his wrists were tied up behind his back, rope cutting into his skin. Sighing softly, he wondered why he hadn’t seen this coming and opened his eyes to find out.  
  
And saw Schuldig. Ah. That would be why, then. You just couldn’t predict the movements of a wild card, even with precognition.  
  
“Schuldig, what precisely do you think you are doing?” Crawford asked in a calm and level voice. If only he hadn’t left his gun on the other side of the room.  
  
A shrug, a chuckle, a rustle of movement. Crawford narrowed his eyes. “Schuldig, I’m warning you…”  
  
“Warning me what?” Schuldig purred, amusement lacing his words like honey. “What are you going to do, Crawford? You seem to be forgetting who has the knife here.”  
  
Crawford gritted his teeth, and counted to ten. “Schuldig. Untie me.”  
  
“Yes, but what’s in it for me?”  
  
“Schuldig…” he growled.  
  
“You seem to like saying my name,” the German commented silkily. “I could assist with that, if you like.”  
  
Crawford opened his mouth to snap, but thought better of it. It would just result in the use of the telepath’s name, and he wasn’t going to give Schuldich the satisfaction. Breathe in, breathe out. “What do you want?”  
  
Schuldig rolled his eyes. “Gee, what do you think? I have you tied up on a bed, and you’re still asking? I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”  
  
That was what he was afraid of. Really, he’d been expecting it on some level-- Schuldig had been trying to back him into a corner metaphorically speaking for quite some time now.  
  
Schuldig pressed the knife down a bit harder until it threatened to break the skin and crawled onto the bed, straddling Crawford. “And don’t ask why,” he added conversationally. “Because I know you’re only _pretending_ to be that thick.”  
  
Damn.  
  
“Why now?”  
  
Schuldig smirked, and Crawford fought the urge to swallow. He was in control, no matter how it looked.   
  
“Because I was bored.”  
  
There wasn’t much one could say to that, so Crawford settled for glaring.  
  
“Oh, come on, Braaaaaaad,” Schuldig cooed. “Don’t be like that. It’ll be fun.”  
  
“Tomorrow, I am going to take my gun and I am going to shoot you,” Crawford said slowly and carefully. “And I will take pleasure in it.”  
  
“Ooh, kinky.” Pause. “Don’t give me that look. Besides, as you’re so determined to kill me, I may as well have my fun. Last rites.”  
  
Crawford snarled, but didn’t answer. It would be a waste of breath, and his time would be spent much more fruitfully envisioning all the painful ways he would torture Schuldig before killing him.  
  
“Think of it as a lesson,” Schuldig said thoughtfully as he bent down to lick Crawford’s ear, frowning when Crawford stubbornly remained still. “You like to give them so much, it’s your turn for a change.”  
  
“A lesson in what?” Crawford demanded. “Bondage?”  
  
“Oh, it could be. If that’s what you wanted. But I was thinking more along the lines… control.”  
  
Crawford narrowed his eyes. “Really.”  
  
“No, not really, I just felt like saying it,” Schuldig answered sarcastically. “For fun.”  
  
Crawford had enough dignity not to respond to that.  
  
“So. Like I was saying, control. Or more to accurately, loss of control.”  
  
“Get to the point, Schuldig,” Crawford ordered coldly.  
  
The redhead leaned in closer. “See, that’s what I’m talking about, here. The cool and in command thing? Getting old.”  
  
Crawford had always known there were downsides to having a teammate whose movements were so erratic even he didn’t know what they would be. This was a good example.  
  
“I never know what you’re thinking,” Schuldig added.  
  
And that was it, the vicious cycle. Crawford couldn’t pre-empt Schuldig’s unpredictable activities, and Schuldig couldn’t read Crawford’s guarded thoughts.  
  
“Which prompted you to tie me up and hold a knife to my throat,” Crawford said flatly.  
  
Schuldig considered this carefully. “Pretty much, yes,” he answered finally.  
  
Note to self: why do you keep him around, again? Oh, yes. He was useful. Curses.  
  
“I also want to hear you scream my name,” Schuldig whispered in his ear, hair brushing Crawford’s face.  
  
You will stay in control. No shivering. Good.  
  
“Couldn’t you be a little less cliché, Schuldig?”  
  
“Couldn’t you be a little less anally retentive, Brad?” Schuldig mocked lightly.  
  
Crawford was surprised by the sudden impulse to respond to that with a double entendre, but disdainfully ignored the urge. “I hardly see how that would benefit me.”  
  
“Oh, I can think of plenty of ways,” Schuldig murmured, licking a trail down Crawford’s neck.  
  
Tensing, Crawford felt his breath catch and immediately scowled. “That would imply consent.”  
  
Schuldig traced a hand down Crawford’s chest. “And you’re not giving it?”  
  
“Maybe when hell freezes over.”  
  
“Now who’s being clichéd?” Schuldig chided, sinking his teeth warningly into Crawford’s shoulder. “I think I can make you consent before then.”  
  
“It’s not consent if--” don’t moan, don’t respond-- “… you force it! I hardly see why you care, anyway.”  
  
Schuldig smirked. “Ah, but Brad, don’t you see? Your consent is the whole point.” The knife nicked him slightly as if to emphasise the telepath’s words.  
  
Crawford noticed, to his own disgust, that his breathing was becoming uneven. He didn’t need to rely on his precognition to see that this was making a steep descent into Schuldig torturing him with pleasure, and he was starting to doubt if he was strong enough to withstand it for long. It didn’t help that Schuldig was as gorgeous as he was, or that they would have ended up like this long ago if Crawford weren’t quite so attached to his self-control. It _really_ didn’t help that Schuldig knew this, or that it looked like he had finally decided to do something about it.  
  
“You can’t always be in control, Crawford,” Schuldig said in a low tone, licking and nipping his way down the American’s chest. He laughed softly when biting a nipple resulted in a choked off moan, a jerk where Crawford’s body wanted to push up but his mind wouldn’t allow it.  
  
“Would you like your hands untied?” Schuldig asked huskily, sniggering as he saw the torn look flashing through Crawford’s eyes. To say yes was to admit defeat-- but it would also give him the chance to regain some mutuality.  
  
Crawford was panting raggedly, wanting to grab Schuldig’s hair, but he wasn’t going to admit defeat by giving in. Clenching his jaw, he turned his head to the side in a clear gesture of refusal.  
  
Schuldig chuckled. “Fine, have it your way, you stubborn bastard.”  
  
Both of them knew that Schuldig would win if Crawford broke, screamed his name, lost control. Both of them _suspected_ that it was only a matter of time before this happened, Schuldig with an air of smug superiority, Crawford with mixed dread and lust.  
  
“How much longer can you hold out, I wonder?” Schuldig mused idly. Tonguing Crawford’s navel as the other man tried not to whimper or strain into the touch, he blew air over the sensitised skin and smiled evilly when Crawford hissed.  
  
“Do you think I’m winning, _Brad_?”  
  
“Fuck you, Schuldig,” Crawford growled, voice cracking slightly. “Fuck you very much.”  
  
“Well, if you really want,” Schuldig teased. “Though that’d be easier without your hands tied, wouldn’t it?”  
  
So tempting to kill Schuldig. Kill him? Kiss him? Fuck him? All very inviting, none of which were possible with tied hands.  
He was really starting to hate this situation. He should have known his pride would betray him one day.  
  
“There are alternatives, of course,” Schuldig commented, shifting his weight back and sliding his free hand down Crawford’s boxers. “There usually are.”  
  
With a short moan of shock, Crawford reflected that it was incredibly unfair that Schuldig was still wearing trousers, and then decided firmly never to voice this thought aloud. Ever. “Schu-” he began, then cut himself off, biting down on his lip so hard that it hurt.  
  
“Does your dignity really mean that much to you?” Schuldig asked, lids lowered in amusement as he stared up into Crawford’s eyes, hair falling wildly around his head like a halo as if he were the fallen angel of debauchery.  
  
 _YES_ , Crawford wanted to say, but he couldn’t do it. “Untie me,” he ordered hoarsely, just as surprised as Schuldig appeared to be.  
  
Eyes widened momentarily in shock, Schuldig recovered himself quickly. “What’s the magic word?”  
  
If Crawford had been wearing his glasses, they would have glinted in a menacing fashion when he glared at the German pinning the lower half of his body. “I am going to kill you very shortly.”  
  
The knife pricked his skin again in admonition, and Schuldig shook his head. “Ah ah ah, play nice. Why don’t we try this again? That is, if you really want to be untied.”  
  
“Fine, I consent!” Crawford snapped, frustration getting the better of him. “Now bloody well untie me!”  
  
“Since you asked so nicely,” Schuldig said sweetly, drawing the knife down along Crawford’s body using the flat side, pretending to ignore the sharp intake of breath as the cold metal made the American’s skin tingle. Crawford arched his back to allow Schuldig to slice through the ropes, and raised an eyebrow at the contemplative expression gracing the redhead’s faintly smirking features.  
  
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” Crawford said dryly, surreptitiously trying to regain feeling in his hands.  
  
“Just thinking that next time I’d leave you that way.”  
  
“Have I ever mentioned that you are a sadist?”  
  
“Probably.” Schuldig tilted his head to the side and winked. “You know it turns you on.”  
  
Crawford didn’t respond to that, just clutched sporadically at the sheet underneath him, hands clenching and un-clenching. His chest was rising and falling at a quicker pace, though, and Schuldig grinned.  
  
“Besides, you are too. Best thing to be in this line of business,” he said idly, toying with the belt of his trousers.  
  
“Schuldig,” Crawford said icily, “I am going to take that knife and stab you with it if you do not do something shortly.”  
  
“Sheesh, why am I doing all the work?” Schuldig muttered. “Keep your pants on.” He paused. “Okay, try not to do that, actually.”   
  
Taking the hint when Crawford shifted impatiently and forcefully pulled him downwards, Schuldig crushed his mouth down against Crawford’s with bruising strength, moaning when Crawford thrust his tongue roughly into his mouth and yanked on his hair painfully. It was all about power now, and Crawford’s domineering personality always _had_ done something for him.  
  
When Crawford flipped them over hard and fast so he was on top, a niggling part of Schuldig’s mind wondered if maybe this wasn’t defeating the purpose of taking control away from Crawford. Still, he may have been in charge, but he wasn’t exactly in control. If Crawford were in control, this would not be happening at all.  
  
Schuldig lifted his body obligingly when Crawford tugged on his trousers, and briefly panicked about where the knife was. It would not make a pleasant surprise if one were to roll over it. For that matter… where was the rope?  
  
“I thought I’d set a better example, Schuldig. Honestly.”  
  
Eyes flickering open, Schuldig stared up in confusion. The fuck was Crawford talking about?  
  
“You should know better than to tie someone up and then hand them the key to your downfall.”  
  
Crawford’s face read _payback_ , and swallowing, Schuldig let his eyes drift to the hand in which the American held the knife and the rope. “Oh, FUCK.”  
  
“Think of it as a lesson,” Crawford said, dark amusement tinging his words, “not to be so cocky.”  
  
Crawford was sitting on him, so that ruled out most methods of defense. There was always struggling, but as Crawford was stronger and heavier than he was, that would be just a little bit futile. Wincing as Crawford pulled his arms up ungently and lashed them tightly to the headboard, he attempted a pleading look. “Brad, are you sure this is really necessary?”  
  
“Why, yes. I believe it is,” Crawford replied, mouth quirking. “What was that you were saying earlier about fucking you?”  
  
“Uh.”  
  
“Another thing, Schuldig-- never make an offer unless you intend to follow through.”  
  
Schuldig licked his lips, mouth feeling dry, and locked his eyes steadily with Crawford’s. “I meant it,” he said shakily.   
  
Crawford raised an eyebrow, slightly startled. “Indeed.” He hadn’t expected that, had thought that Schuldig would back down once he wasn’t in control, but it just belied how unpredictable the German telepath was. “In that case…”  
  
Schuldig wouldn’t be going anywhere in the near future, so Crawford leant over to retrieve something from the drawers next to the bed.  
  
Schuldig blinked, thrown entirely off balance by this whole turn of events. “You keep lubricant? Next to your _bed_?”  
  
Crawford rolled his eyes. “Tell me, Schuldig, where else would I keep it?”  
  
“Yes, but why do you even--” That really was a very nasty look. “… just forget I said anything,” Schuldig added hastily.  
  
“I usually do,” Crawford answered wryly, settling back down on Schuldig and flicking his wrist so that his grip on the knife changed.  
  
Schuldig watched the knife warily, mildly afraid of what Crawford intended to do with it. He opened his mouth to comment on this, but squeaked when something cold pressed between his legs. “Hey! You could have warmed it up just a fucking little!”  
  
“This is going to hurt,” Crawford informed him bluntly, ignoring the complaint and the quiet yelps that Schuldig made as he pushed first one then two fingers inside.  
  
“I… know… that!” Schuldig ground out sourly. “I’m not a bloody virgin, sheesh!”  
  
“I have no intention of being gentle,” Crawford warned.  
  
Schuldig laughed shortly. “You? Gentle? I hardly even expect you to be considerate, Brad. If you were gentle, I’d strangle you.”  
  
“Glad to hear it.”  
  
Gasping when Crawford pushed into him, Schuldig reflected with a wince that he certainly hadn’t been exaggerating when he said he wasn’t going to take it easy. Schuldig linked his legs around Crawford’s hips tightly, but Crawford rested where he was for a moment, obviously enjoying Schuldig’s frustration.  
  
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, _move_ , you bastard!” Schuldig burst out impatiently.  
  
“I seem to recall something about a lesson in control?” Crawford asked casually, the strain of staying still only visible in the tenseness of his muscles.  
  
“I’ll fucking show you fucking control,” Schuldig muttered darkly under his breath.  
  
“Language,” Crawford chided, but whatever else he intended to say was lost when Schuldig enacted part one of his revenge, jerking his hips up so Crawford’s knees buckled with the intense thrill it sent through his body.  
  
“Next time,” Crawford panted, thrusting back, “I’ll remember to tie up your feet.”  
  
“Next time, I won’t untie you,” Schuldig retorted breathlessly, arms pulling against their bonds futilely as he tried to quicken the pace.  
  
“I think you need to be reminded about who is in charge,” Crowford growled, slamming his mouth against Schuldig’s so hard that it hurt. Schuldig tried to break away to make a wise crack so he could keep on even footing, and Crawford bit down sharply on Schuldig’s lower lip as a punishment so Schuldig could taste the blood welling up in his mouth. That’s what you got for being a chronic smart-arse, he supposed, and Christ on a fucking bicycle, that hurt.  
  
Two could play at that game, Schuldig thought nastily, and clamped his teeth down hard. He was rewarded with a snarl and an excruciating yank to his hair, an unpleasant side effect of leaving it long. Crawford tore his mouth away and Schuldig glared defiantly up into the you-are-in-BIG-fucking-trouble-now! look.  
  
Noticing the predatory way in which Crawford’s eyes followed his tongue as he licked the blood from his swollen lip, Schuldig considered that perhaps his show of rebelliousness had been incredibly stupid. Crawford kept telling him to think before he acted, but he had never been particularly good at following orders. He’d always known it’d get him into trouble one day.  
He just hadn’t often contemplated it being like this.  
  
“For once, Schuldig, you are going to listen to my rules, and you are going to obey them,” Crawford announced, lack of breath only slightly noticeable. He was, after all, the master of self-restraint.  
  
Schuldig liked to think he himself was the master of self-gratification. This must be the halfway mark.  
  
“One,” Crawford said slowly, spinning the knife thoughtfully. “I am in charge, not you, and if you forget that again, you _will_ regret it.”  
  
Schuldig didn’t exactly like the way that Crawford was wielding the sharp blade, so wisely kept his mouth shut for once.  
  
“Two,” Crawford continued, lowering the knife so it lay gently at the base of Schuldig’s neck. Schuldig kept his eyes very carefully trained upon the American’s, ignoring the temptation to let them stray towards the knife. “Do what you’re told.”  
  
Schuldig nodded very gingerly, and sliding the knife further around to the front of Schuldig’s throat, Crawford leaned in close enough for Schuldig to be able to see the faint lines of red where he had nicked Crawford earlier. Shit.  
  
“Finally,” Crawford concluded, “if we do this, you belong to me.” The knife was drawn across Schuldig’s chest lightly, and the redhead flinched at the vivid pain burning across his skin. Crawford followed the knife’s path with his tongue, then bit Schuldig’s shoulder so hard that it made him cry out.  
  
“Marking me? I always knew you were possessive,” Schuldig said unsteadily, trembling slightly.  
  
“Schuldig, shut up,” Crawford told him sternly, grinding Schuldig down roughly into the bed to punctuate his words, and for maybe the first time in his life Schuldig listened. Crawford crushed his mouth down violently on Schuldig’s again, shoving his tongue down Schuldig’s throat so passionately that Schuldig forgot to breathe for a second, mouths sealed together in a way that was searing hot and bruising and sinful and too damn good. Threading the hand without the knife roughly through Schuldig’s hair to tilt the German’s head to allow a better angle to possess his mouth, Crawford began to move in earnest, building up a rhythm that was hard and fast and dizzying and made Schuldig wonder deliriously if Crawford really was trying to fuck him into the mattress. His arms were killing him, but he wanted more, harder, faster, FUCK ME.  
  
Schuldig was moaning through the kiss, incoherent words and phrases that sometimes sounded like a mantra of “FUCK FUCK HOLY FUCKING SHIT!” and the repeated screaming of Crawford’s name until his throat was raw. It was like fireworks exploding behind his eyes, pleasure and pain twining and intermingling and bleeding together until he could no longer tell them apart, and he couldn’t see and he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t think and all he could do was scream as Crawford thrust into him again and again. He felt Crawford come, both physically and psychically in some vague distant corner of his mind, and dazedly realised that he himself had already done so. Crawford collapsed on him, putting a terrible strain on his arms, but Schuldig was too exhausted to care.  
  
“Was’t good f’r you?” he slurred woozily.  
  
Crawford just grunted.  
  
“What time is it?” Schuldig asked, yawning so that his speech was almost indistinguishable.  
  
“1 AM. Go to sleep.”  
  
That was the second best idea all evening, Schuldig decided, and promptly obeyed.  
  
~  
  
Oh, _OW_. Ow. Ow. Ow.  
  
Waking up to find oneself in a whole new world of pain? Not fun. This was worse than a hangover, and Schuldig debated silently whether it was even worth opening his eyes. His body hurt in all sorts of ways, and he had yet to identify the separate causes. “Brad?” he croaked, unpleasantly surprised to find that he had practically lost his voice, and his throat was one of the sources of his suffering.  
  
He cracked an eye open to find Crawford standing next to the bed fully dressed and smirking at his discomfort. His wrists were still tied to the headboard, he realised, and ached in a deep and nasty way. They were stiff, too. “Brad, are you going to untie me now?”  
  
His lip hurt, too, he reflected pitifully. He was starting to feel all the different injuries separately, and that if anything was worse. Time to take stock; his shoulder was definitely bruised, he didn’t want to know how bad the rope-burn was, the cuts on his chest were starting to itch, and… OW. Don’t even _think_ about sitting for the next fortnight. For that matter, his head hurt from Crawford continuously tugging on his hair. Crawford chuckled evilly.  
  
“No, I rather like you where you are, actually.”  
  
“But Braaaaaaaaaaaaaaad!” Schuldig whined. “It hurts!”  
  
“Take that as a lesson learned, then,” he said smoothly. “I may just leave you there for the rest of the day.”  
  
“But…” Schuldig protested weakly. “What if Nagi comes in? You don’t want him being corrupted, do you?”  
  
“I highly doubt that Nagi would be all that shocked,” Crawford answered dryly. “You clearly don’t realise how loud you are. Besides, if he’s snooping around in my room he deserves anything he gets. Now if you’ll excuse me, some of us have work to do.”  
  
No, no, no- “BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!”  
  
Aw, crap. He should have known that bondage with a control freak was a bad idea.


End file.
